The seventy fleshy specimens that comprise Minor Local Slumpage range in size, some similar to sushi, others closer to a softball -- and reveal familiar materials like a shoulder pad, a piece of fake baloney, or hair pulled from a drain. Many of them have been disturbed; they appear skewered, sanded, sliced, disemboweled, or encased in rubber. If asked for their manifesto, these works might reply:

We are moist. There are secrets. Our bodies escape us.

We have hair. We are tasty. We may be faking it.

Light on too many sides!

We survived something terrible. We can barely contain ourselves. We don’t yet exist.